Experiment in Solitude
by foreverx
Summary: While Scully recuperates in the hospital from a gunshot wound, Mulder is kidnapped and placed in an isolated cell by persons unknown.
1. Chapter 1

**Summary: ** While Scully recuperates in the hospital from a gunshot wound, Mulder is kidnapped and placed in an isolated cell by persons unknown. This is my very first fanfic of any kind, written many years ago, but never posted here. Rated PG.

**April 17, 1996 Georgetown Hospital 7:32 a.m.**

He had spent the night in the waiting room. Unable to sleep, he whiled away most of the wee hours reading magazines and watching television infomericals. When the only other poor soul keeping vigil for a loved one was given some bad news by a doctor, Mulder's heart sank a few notches. It was a young man in his twenties whose wife had been in a car accident. He and Mulder had struck up a casual conversation discussing everything but the totally unimaginable. Now the guy was being led off in tears to visit with his wife one last time.

It could have just as easily been him given that news. It could have been him walking down that corridor crying his eyes out, on his way to saying a bitter farewell to his partner. The partner who had put her life on the line for the umpteenth time to save his. The serial killer they had trapped in a warehouse had circled around and surprised Mulder with a magnum aimed at his head. If Scully hadn't stepped out of hiding and drawn the killer's attention to herself by yelling her partner's name, it would be Mulder lying in the intensive care unit now or more than likely, the morgue.

He wished she wouldn't put herself in jeopardy like that, but he knew she wouldn't have it any other way. She knew that he would have done the same exact thing if roles had been reversed. Those few vital seconds it took for the killer to turn his gun on Scully was all Mulder needed to send the guy to hell where he belonged, emptying nearly a full clip into that worthless body for good measure.

The bullet which had entered Scully's shoulder, severed an artery and caused a massive amount of blood loss. But he had been told that she was out of danger now. The worst was over. When he was finally allowed to enter her room again by the watchdogs of nurses, Mulder took hold of his friend's hand and leaned in close to her ear. "I'm here, Scully," he informed her, to which he received no response. He released her hand, grabbed a nearby chair and pulled it closer to the bed, then settled in to wait. His patience paid off nearly two hours later. A broad grin etched its way across his face when he saw her stir and her eyes flutter open.

"Enjoy your nap?"

"How long?" she spoke, her voice a whisper.

He leaned forward in his seat and softy replied, "This is day two. How ya feeling?"

"Not half as bad as *you* look," she spoke, her humor intact. She gauged Mulder by his puffy, red-rimmed eyes with dark circles beneath, the disheveled hair standing on ends and his way-past-five- o'clock shadow, and knew instinctively that he had not slept since the incident. His eyes, though gleaming with relief now, still showed traces of the worry he had lived with for the past thirty-seven hours.

"The doctor says you're going to be fine. The bullet nipped an artery. You lost a lot of blood, but they got to you in time. They want to hold you in captivity for a few more days. I tried calling your mother -"

"She's on a cruise ship somewhere in the Greek Islands. I don't see any reason to worry her with this anyway."

Mulder disagreed. Margaret Scully would *want* to know of each little scratch that her daughter encountered, and a near fatal gunshot wound would definitely warrant her attention. Still, Mulder was somewhat relieved not to have to face the woman, to inform her once again that he had put her daughter's life in jeopardy.

"Did we get him, Mulder?" Scully asked as though that were more important than her health.

He took hold of her hand in a reassuring manner. "Yeah, Scully, we got him. He won't be carving up any more young women. I made sure of that."

She was relieved to hear it. The bastard had kidnapped and sliced up six, twenty-one year women in the past fourteen months, reliving the anger he wallowed in when his girlfriend, the first victim, dumped him. Consequently, every other young woman he chose was in her likeness and suffered the same fate.

"You missed Skinner," Mulder changed the subject. "He stopped by for a few minutes a little earlier. But I got the impression that he was more worried about *me* than you."

"Well, I have to admit you do look a little like death warmed over. When's the last time you slept?"

"Hey, I'm not the one who's been shot, remember? Although I would gladly change places with you. I really hate this view of you, Scully. That bullet had my name on you. You should've stayed behind cover."

"Oh, so you could be lying here instead of me, is that it?"

"I'm a lot more use to that."

"Mulder, do you have any idea of what I go through when you've been hurt and hospitalized, and I don't know if you're going to live or die?"

"Something like the way I feel now?" He gently squeezed her hand and looked into her sleepy, blue-green eyes with regret and understanding. "I have an idea. Why don't we make a pact?"

"What kind of pact?"

"From now on, we both agree to avoid being shot or abducted or attacked by iridescent, prehistoric bugs."

Scully managed a smile. "What about alien viruses?"

Mulder grinned and nodded. "Definitely avoid alien viruses, and contaminated water that causes premature aging, and quaint little towns where visitors end up on the menu. We'll also have to agree to stay away from volcanoes, places completely covered with ice and -"

"Jeez, Mulder. We might as well stay home with all our doors and windows locked." She thought about that a moment, remembering the incident when the very elastic Eugene Tooms squeezed his way through her apartment air ducts, looking for a snack. Then, of course, there was Duane Barry breaking in through her window to kidnap her so she could take his place as an alien abductee. Scully closed her eyes to shut out the memory. "No, that doesn't work either, does it?"

"Maybe we should just think about a safer line of work altogether," Mulder suggested. He couldn't possibly be serious, Scully thought. She looked at him, seeing the frustration in his weary eyes.

"Mulder, no one is ever safe. Just look at all those victims of senseless crimes we investigate. Those people mostly lead simple lives in a so-called 'safe' environment. And yet, they end up on a slab at the morgue, and we're left trying to figure out at what point they stopped being safe."

Mulder took in her words and nodded in agreement. Still, he would have preferred himself lying in the hospital bed in her place. She seemed so small and delicate, almost childlike. It hurt to see her any way but healthy and vibrant. She could sense his unfaltering concern for her safety.

"Mulder, there's something I never told you... Remember, Clyde Bruckman and his uncanny ability to foresee people's deaths?"

"How could I forget. Did he tell you how you -"

"Not exactly. I asked him. And he told me that I won't."

"What? He told you that you won't die?"

"I'm sure he only meant that I won't for a long time yet. I believe him. Of course, what he said about you and autoerotic asphyxiation..."

Mulder shrugged lightly. "Actually, that doesn't sound so bad," he confessed with a sly grin. "I could certainly think of less pleasant ways to go. By the way, I've willed my adult video collection to Frohike. If he ends up buying it in the same way I do, there may be an X-File in it for you, Scully."

His partner winced in pain at the effort to laugh. Concerned, Mulder leapt instantly to his feet.

"Scully, you okay?"

"You shouldn't make me laugh."

His left hand still held hers tenderly, his other hand gently brushed a few wayward strands of auburn hair away from her face.

"You want me to get the nurse? You need something for the pain?

"No, I'm...I'm fine, Mulder. I'm just tired."

"Get some sleep then. I'll be right here when you wake up."

"No, Mulder, go home. You look like hell. Go home and get some sleep."

"What makes you think I'd be able to sleep?"

"Well, at least go home and get cleaned up. Give me something prettier to look at next time I open my eyes."

"I suppose I'm probably beginning to offend as well?"

"Just a tad."

Mulder grinned and let his forefinger swipe smoothly across her cheek. "I'll leave after you're asleep," he said without allowing her to argue. He then took his seat again, keeping a gentle hold on her hand as she peacefully drifted off.

Mulder waited an hour after Scully was sound asleep before deserting her. He felt if he went home now, showered and changed, and grabbed a bite to eat, he could be back by the time the nurses woke her up for lunch. Of course, he also needed to stop by the office and take care of some paperwork. A.D. Skinner had already cornered him earlier when he came to personally check on Scully's condition. Satisfied that she would be all right, he reminded Mulder of his FBI duties. Besides filing a detailed report of the shooting and the events leading up to it, Mulder had to prepare for the Danny Avery hearing at which he was due to testify in two days. Avery - the son of a wealthy land developer - was being tried for drug trafficking and the murder of an undercover FBI agent. Mulder was the star witness.

**April 18 Location Unknown 10:47 a.m.  
**  
Mulder awoke in a white fog. His mouth was dry and his head was swimming. He closed his eyes and lay perfectly still on the bed waiting for the nausea to subside. After a few moments he dared to sit upright. His eyelids eased themselves open and he slowly surveyed his surroundings.

He was in a white room; a small white room with bare, cement walls and no windows. There was a metal door with a couple of panels in it. One small square at the top and an oblong one near where the door handle should be. Each looked as though they had the capacity of being opened from the outside. It dawned on him that he was on the inside and that this room wasn't just a room; it was a cell of some kind.

How the hell did he get here, he wondered. The last thing he remembered was standing in his shower letting the hot water massage his kinked back. No wait... there *was* something... a noise. He remembered a noise, then the shower curtain engulfed him with an iron grip, followed by a stinging sensation in his arm. He had been drugged and kidnapped and brought here, wherever *here* was.

He stood on wobbly legs and made his way over to the sink at the foot of the bed. When he attempted to turn on the faucet, he saw that there were no handles. On further inspection, he realized that the sink worked off of sensors. He placed his opened palms beneath the spout and was rewarded with a spray of cool water. He drank a couple of handfuls, then splashed some water onto his face to help shake off the cobwebs. He had expected to look up from the sink and see his reflection in the mirror, but only painted white cinderblocks returned his gaze.

Looking around the room from this new angle, he saw all that it had to offer. Next to the sink was a low profile toilet which also worked by automatic sensors. The twin-size bed with crisp, white sheets was the only piece of furniture, and it appeared to be sturdily bolted to the tiled floor. A prison cell was his first guess, but it appeared way too sanitary for it to be that. His second thought was that his new residence may well be a mental institution.

Mulder gradually became aware of two more interesting facts. He discovered a mini-video camera bolted to the ceiling over the door. The steady, red light let him know that his movements were being monitored. The next thing he noticed - only after he sensed a chill from the air conditioner - was his complete lack of clothing. Apparently, someone on the other end of that video cable was getting an eyeful.

"Like what you see?" he spoke to the camera with arms outstretched, offering an unobstructed view. He wasn't the least bit bashful, but it was starting to get a little cool in his clean, white cell. He casually went over to the bed and pulled off the top sheet to wrap himself in. Then he crossed over to the door and pushed on it. He knew it would be locked, but saw no harm in making sure. He banged on it a few times and yelled out for someone, anyone to answer him. No one did.

Settling back on the bed again, with the sheet wrapped around him, his back positioned against the wall and his knees drawn to his chest, he began his wait. His mind easily dismissed his own predicament and concentrated on Scully. She had expected him to be there when she woke up. Now he had no idea when that was. He didn't know how long he'd been out. Had she awakened already, disappointed to find him not there? No, she probably would have assumed that he had taken her advice and gotten some sleep. She wouldn't be overly concerned right away.

Suddenly, he had a sickening thought. What if the bastards that had plucked him out of his own shower had also gotten to his partner. He leapt up and went to the door again. He yelled out her name several times, thankful that she never responded. Then again, her voice had been so weak in the hospital, there was no way she could have made herself heard through the solidness of the surrounding walls. Mulder chose to think positively. Scully was still safely recovering in the Georgetown hospital. Skinner had probably checked on her again, as well as her most ardent fan, Frohike. She was safe. He wouldn't allow himself to think otherwise.

"We can start this any time you like," he told the camera. "I do have other commitments." The red light on the camera remained steady. Nothing else happened.

**April 18 Georgetown Hospital 12:10 p.m.  
**  
Scully had expected to see Mulder when she opened her eyes this time. Again she met with disappointment. She could tell it was about noon. She could hear the lunch carts being wheeled about outside in the corridor along with the light clatter of trays and dish covers. She had imagined that Mulder probably stopped by the office to get some work done when he left her yesterday. He probably lost track of time, then went home. He was probably so exhausted by then that he laid down to catch a few hours sleep, and by the time he woke up, visiting hours were over. She could forgive him for not returning to visit yesterday. But she truly did expect to find him sitting in the chair next to her bed first thing this morning. But he hadn't come and he hadn't called. She told herself that he had stopped off at the office this morning and would come by to see her on his lunch break. She closed her eyes again, knowing that the next voice she heard would be his.

"Agent Scully?" It wasn't Mulder's voice, but it was still a welcomed one. Her eyes lifted to witness her boss standing over her, holding a small floral arrangement with a tiny, white bear and a card attached. The stern no-nonsense expression that he normally carried around had been replaced with a gentler look of concern and a faint smile of relief. "How do you feel?"

"Much better, sir."

"You had us all worried for a while there."

"Not my intention, sir, believe me."

A.D. Skinner sat the bouquet on a table next to three others, then turned his attention back to Scully. "So where's your partner? I have to admit, I fully expected to find him handcuffed to your bed."

Scully snickered. "I imagine he must have been pretty tired. I suppose he's still home in bed."

Skinner raised his brows at that statement. "I've been trying to reach him. I haven't gotten an answer on his cell phone, and I've left messages on his answering machine since about this time yesterday. When's the last time you heard from him?"

"He was here yesterday morning. I told him to go home and get some sleep. I got the impression that he had planned to come back later. Did he not come in to work today?"

"No. No one's seen or heard from him today. He's due to testify in the Avery hearing tomorrow morning. The D.A. has been trying to get in touch with him to go over some last minute details. God, I hope he hasn't run off on another one of his truth-seeking tangents. If he doesn't show up for that hearing tomorrow..."

Skinner paused when he noted Scully's growing uneasiness at the thought of Mulder gone missing. She was staring off into space and her color had reached a new shade of pale. He touched her arm to get her attention and smiled disarmingly once he had it.

"Hey, it's probably like you said. He was exhausted. I believe he's been up for at least three days straight. He's probably crashed out at home. I'll stop by and check on him. Don't worry about him."

Allowing her concern to take a step back, Scully gave a slight shrug of her head. "I won't if you won't, sir."


	2. Chapter 2

**April 18 Location Unknown 12:23 p.m.  
**  
Mulder sat quietly in his prison contemplating his predicament. He wondered if the consortium meant this to be a permanent solution to ending his involvement with the X-Files. Just lock him up somewhere and throw away the key. Simple and effective. Killing him would have raised too many eyebrows, but Mulder had been known to disappear from time to time, chasing after the ever-elusive truth. No one would miss him right away, and no one would assume foul play. No one except Scully. She knew him well enough to know that he wouldn't have let anything but the extraordinary keep him from returning to her bedside or at least calling to check on her. She'd eventually alert Skinner and the search would be on to find him.

He knew he couldn't continue to expect Scully to come running to his rescue whenever he got himself into trouble. Though to be honest, he didn't do anything to endanger himself this time. He was merely taking a shower in the privacy of his own home. Still, that fact didn't change things. He knew he couldn't depend on Scully alone. He'd have to do what he could to get himself out of this.

Mulder glared up at the ceiling. One defused light fixture and a small air vent was all that he saw. He concentrated on the air duct, thinking how nice it would be if he possessed Eugene Tooms' gift for contortion. No, the only way out for him was through the door. Someone would have to open it from the outside. He thought then of feigning illness. When one of his captors came to check on him, he could take him by surprise, overpower him... and then what? He was being monitored. The whole place was probably monitored. They would know his every move, perhaps even predict it.

He crossed his arms on top of bent knees and buried his head in the crook of them. His plan needed more work. Mainly, he just needed to wait until his captors made contact. He needed to find out exactly what he was up against. He needed to know if he was in a full-scale prison, a warehouse, or perhaps even somebody's basement. How many captors were there, and most importantly, what were their plans for him. He gave a casual thought of being on an alien spaceship, but quickly ruled that out. There was no feeling of motion, no sounds of engines humming, nothing that didn't appear to be man-made.

He was so deep within his own speculations, that Mulder didn't even register the sound of someone at the door. He jerked alert when the oblong panel in the center of the door suddenly popped open. The panel created a narrow tabletop where a tray of food took up residence. Mulder raced over to the door, hoping to catch a glimpse of the person who left the food. However, all he could see through the open slot was the white of the wall directly across from his cell. He heard the clicking of footsteps that were quickly fading off into the distance.

"Hey!" Mulder screamed after the retreating individual. "Talk to me! Who *are* you? Why am I *here*?"

He waited for a response, but got nothing for his trouble. He nearly drove his fist into the solid metal door out of frustration, but realized it would impede his chances of escape if he injured himself. He looked down at the tray which had been left for him. It held a club sandwich and corn chips appetizingly arranged on a paper plate. Beside the plate was a microwave fruit pie and a grape flavored juice box. Lunch, he thought. It must have been about noon. Perhaps still too soon for Scully to question his whereabouts.

He chose to ignore the food. The idea that it might be poisoned or drugged worked on his mind. He went back to the bed and sat on the edge of it. Soon, the aroma of hot cherry pie caused his natural senses to betray him. His mouth watered and his stomach growled to be fed. When was the last time he had eaten anyway? He seemed to remember a candy bar and a soft drink sometime during the all- nighter at the hospital, perhaps as much as thirty-six hours ago if his calculations were right.

He got up and walked back towards the door, his sheet secured to his body with his left hand. He stared at the food as though it might come to life at any moment. Then he rationalized, if they had wanted him dead, he *would* be. It was obvious that they wanted him alive and well, at least for the time being. He gingerly picked up a chip and popped it into his mouth. That's all it took. He attempted to pick up the tray to take it back to the bed with him, but discovered it had a chain attached. They no doubt figured that if he held on to the metal tray, he might find a use for it as an escape aid. He created a basket out of the folds of his sheet and placed all the items from the tray into it. He padded back to the bed, made himself comfortable, then proceeded to chow down. With his mouth full, he raised his juice box to the camera.

"My compliments to the chef."

**April 18 Mulder's Apartment 1:17 p.m.  
**  
Assistant Director Skinner rapped his knuckles for a second time loudly on Mulder's door. He called out the agent's name and awaited a response. When none was forthcoming, he tried the door to see if it was locked. It wasn't. His chest tightened with an uneasy feeling. He pulled out his revolver and readied it for action. Pushing the door open carefully, he slid like a shadow into the room. Holding his weapon securely in his right hand, his other hand reached for the light switch. Even in daylight hours, Mulder's apartment somehow managed to retain an unnatural dimness.

Skinner made a quick sweep of the living room and kitchen. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. There was no overturned furniture or sign of a struggle. He made his way into the bedroom where Mulder's holstered gun, his badge, watch and wallet lay waiting on the bed that had not been slept in. The light in the bathroom was on and the door had been left ajar. The assistant director feared what he might find in that room. If Mulder was in there, it was very likely he was not still breathing. Skinner closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath, preparing himself for the worst.

When he finally forced himself to step into the bathroom, he found the shower curtain pulled from its rod and lying carelessly on the tile floor. He allowed himself to breathe again when the body he had expected to find wasn't present. No blood, which was also a good sign. He'd have to get a forensic team out to go over the place for clues. As he started out, his foot kicked something small and plastic under the edge of the shower curtain. He used a sheet of bath tissue to pick it up.

"Mulder," he spoke while staring at the cap to a hypodermic needle. "What have you gotten yourself into this time?"

**April 18 Location Unknown 4:50 p.m.**

It had been several hours since feeding time and Mulder was getting bored. Actually he had already surpassed boredom. He had secured the sheet about his body, toga style and now had taken to pacing back and forth in his tiny cell. He had managed to stretch the four steps it took him to cross the length of the room to eight, by taking what he considered little Scully steps. He attempted to keep his mind occupied by recalling the details to an X-File he and Scully had been working on before they were pulled off it and asked to take over the serial girlfriend killer. The other file concerned several disappearances on a certain lake in South Carolina. What classified it as an X-File was the curious blue fog that blew up from nowhere, engulfed the victim, then vanished just as mysteriously.

Going over the remembered details in his mind wasn't the same as having reports, photographs and evidence to look at and hold in his hands. He found his thoughts easily drifting to the simple geometric design of the floor, the toenails that needed trimming and wondering when the panel in the door would open again and send forth food. He wasn't hungry yet, but so far, it was the only thing to which he could look forward.

There had been no other contact other than his lunch being brought around and later, the tray taken away. He was beginning to think that that was all there would ever be. Perhaps he was doomed to a life of solitary confinement. No one to share ideas with, nothing to read, no radio or TV, only bitter loneliness. He glanced up at the camera, the red light still gleaming. Someone was watching him, waiting for him to start babbling to himself, banging his head against the wall, pulling his hair out in clumps. It wouldn't happen right away. He didn't really mind being alone. He savored his privacy. But to be completely cut off from all forms of stimulus wasn't natural. Without companionship or diversion, a man could go mad in a relatively short time. Perhaps that was their plan. Drive him crazy and they'd have nothing to fear from him and his X-Files.

Well, he wasn't going to make it that easy for them. He picked up a roll of thoughtfully provided toilet paper and wet a big wad of it, which he then hurled at the video camera. He smiled proudly when he hit his target and the wet paper clung to the camera lens. He threw up his arms triumphantly and made a couple of leaps off the floor.

"Yea-a-a, and the crowd goes wild!" he yelled enthusiastically. He felt better now, a little more in control. He'd know soon enough if anyone was paying attention. He plopped down on the bed, crossed his legs and his arms and waited for the consequences.

-

Hours passed and nothing happened. No reprimand, no retaliation, no food. Either what he had done hadn't been noticed yet, or he was being completely ignored. If a child misbehaves in order to get attention, then to correct the behavior, the attention he craves should be withheld. One of his professors told him that back at Oxford. Perhaps he would have been ignored anyway. The feeling of utter loneliness began to wash over him. Only one day, to the best of his knowledge, and already those white walls were closing in on him. The overhead light remained on, giving him no clue as to day or night or if he should be awake or sleeping. He stretched out on the bed and covered his head with his arms to block out the light. He filled his brain with images of his partner. He heard her voice asking him all the questions he had grown accustomed to hearing over the past few years.

"So what do you think, Mulder? Where are you going, Mulder? You don't honestly believe that, do you? Mulder, are you okay?"

That last phrase; there were times he hated when she asked that, times when her fussing over his well-being was not appreciated. He'd turn away from her concern, knowing such actions only served to hurt her and drive an emotional wedge between them. Then again, there were those times when her sweet voice would ask, "Are you okay, Mulder?" and he'd thank the stars above that he had such a wonderful person in his life. He knew how lucky he was to have her for a partner and friend. If nothing else ever went right in his life, it wouldn't matter as long as he had his Scully; knowing that she was always there for him. Although, he knew not to expect to hear her voice and those words within the next few minutes, he couldn't stop himself from wishing it would happen.

He was tired now. The task of keeping his mind occupied for however many hours he had been there, had physically drained him. He closed his eyes and handed himself over to Morpheus.

-

In his dream, Mulder was standing at Scully's bedside in the hospital, holding her hand. She awoke and smiled at him at first, then her smile turned into a grimace. "Scully, what's wrong?" he asked with mounting apprehension.

"I'm so hot, Mulder. I must be running a fever. It's so hot in here. I can barely breathe."

"No, I don't think it's you, Scully. I'm starting to get pretty warm too. There's a lot of heat coming from somewhere. I'll go check it out."

"Mulder, be careful."

He didn't understand the reason for the warning. Why should he be careful just walking outside of her hospital room? He shrugged off the warning as he crossed over to the door and opened it. A current of hot air and a wall of flames gushed into the room, knocking him off his feet and throwing him against the far wall. Scully screamed his name incessantly as the flames quickly surrounded her bed. Mulder heard her cries for help but couldn't move. Besides being terrified of the flames, the heat had already overpowered him. He kept his back turned away from the flames and his partner, whose pleas for help began to lessen. Mulder huddled against the wall, sweating profusely and unable to get in a deep breath.

"I'm sorry, Scully," he whimpered. "I'm sorry."

It was the sound of his own voice and choking tears that woke him from his nightmare. Perspiration poured from his skin as he sat up and leaned his head against the wall. It was still hard for him to catch his breath and it wasn't merely the residual effects of his dream. He realized that the air conditioning system was no longer operating. The temperature which had been comfortably in the lower seventies had zoomed somewhere into the nineties. The room had become stifling due to a complete lack of air circulation.

Mulder untangled himself from his toga and headed over to the sink to splash some water on his face and take a sip. When he cupped his hands and placed them beneath the faucet, nothing happened. He passed his hands in front of the sensor several times with no results. Then he looked over at the toilet and saw that the water level had not replenished itself after its last use. It dawned on him then that the water service had been disrupted as well.

Mulder looked at the camera still plastered by the giant spitball. He guessed at what was happening. He was being punished for his earlier offense against the video camera. First, they withheld his expected meal, now the water and air. He could easily die of dehydration and heat exhaustion. They probably wouldn't care. Whatever reason they had for taking him prisoner in the first place, he was sure didn't exclude his untimely death. He could think of only one thing to do. He wasn't even sure it would work, but he knew that he had to try something.

Mulder walked over to where the video camera was attached above the door. Standing on the balls of his bare feet, he was able to reach the barrel of the lens with his fingertips and flip the dried paper off the lens. The flaring red light was back. Mulder returned to his bed and sat down, pulling a small corner of permanent press percale over his naked lap. He kept his eyes on the red light of the camera and began a silent countdown to himself.

By the time he had reached sixty, he heard the windy roar of the air conditioner as it pumped a surge of cooler air into the room. That sound was soon followed by the rush of water through pipes as the toilet worked to fill its bowl. Mulder went over to the now working faucet, sipped several handfuls of water, then doused his face and head to wash away the sticky sweat and aid in the cooling process. Apparently, all he had to do was learn and follow the rules. Rule number one: don't screw around with the camera.

He closed his eyes and tilted his head back, running his fingers through short, wet hair, slicking it back away from his face. As he felt the cooling water began to trickle down the taunt muscles of his naked chest and back, then drip onto one lean thigh, he thought about how he might look to his voyeur. He suddenly felt like a model for a Playgirl centerfold. With one hand on the rim of the sink and the other on one slim, nude hip, he glanced up at the camera and snickered lightly.

"I hope I can get a copy of this tape later. I never know what to get Scully for Christmas."

He reached for his discarded sheet which was now damp and smelly from his sweat and lack of deodorant. Draping it loosely about his body, he spoke to his supposed viewer.

"Is it against the rules to have some fresh linen, a bar of soap, a toothbrush... some clothes? I mean, once you've seen me all naked, hot and sweaty, there's little else to look forward to. I'm assuming that there *is* someone there listening to me, otherwise it might appear that I'm talking to myself. If you could at least give me a sign..."

Mulder stood and waited for a sign of human contact. Simply because none came, it didn't make him think that his every move and word spoken wasn't being carefully monitored. He stretched himself out on the bed again, his arms wrapped solidly across his chest. Staring at the ceiling, he thought again of Scully. He wondered how she was doing, how she was handling his disappearance. He hated to be the one to cause her grief, especially in her weakened conditioned, but it wasn't his fault this time. It wasn't his fault. 


	3. Chapter 3

**April 19 Georgetown Hospital 10:56 a.m.  
**  
Scully glared solemnly at the television screen in her hospital room. The set was tuned to CNN where she had caught a glimpse of alleged murderer, Danny Avery at his hearing. It was the hearing at which Mulder was suppose to make an appearance. The star witness never showed. However, the D.A. was successful in getting the hearing postponed. He had ten days in order to produce his witness.

Skinner had already paid Scully a visit. He let her know that Mulder was indeed considered missing and that foul play was suspected. He assured her that everything humanly possible was being done to find him. She knew that her supervisor meant what he said, but that wasn't enough to ease her fears. She needed to be out there helping in the search. She knew things about Mulder that no one else did. Some of that privileged information might just lead the search team in the right direction. She pulled the I-V from her arm and got out of bed. It wasn't until she took a few steps away from the bed that she realized that she wasn't well enough to be on her feet yet. A pair of strong arms came out of nowhere and caught her before she had the chance to fall to the floor. Once she was safely back in bed, she was able to focus on her rescuer.

"Frohike?"

"You shouldn't be out of bed, Miss Scully," said the little man with the big crush on a certain redhead. He helped to reattach her I-V as he spoke. "Being a physician, I imagine you should know better."

"Yes. I should. You've heard about Mulder?"

"Rumor has it that he was kidnapped to keep from testifying against Danny Avery. Big Daddy Avery apparently is a very powerful man with very deep pockets. He doesn't like the idea of his son going to jail, even if he *is* guilty as sin. Mind you, it's only a rumor. You know our boy has many enemies. He also has a knack for throwing himself in the path of the unexplainable. Of course, if it makes you feel any better, there hasn't been any UFO activity in the area of late."

"A.D. Skinner was in here earlier. He's also going on the theory that Avery is behind this."

"Then again, there's that possibility that someone merely *wants* him and all involved to think that."

"You mean, using Avery as a smoke screen to call attention away from a more insidious plan? You think that someone in the government is the culprit?"

"I think someone in the government is *always* the culprit. The fellows and I will keep our eyes and ears open. I suppose that's all we can do for now. And all you can do or *should* do is stay in bed and get well. You know that's what he'd want."

Scully blew out a sigh of defeat. "I know. I just feel so useless."

"Try not to worry. Our boy Mulder is like a bad penny. He's sure to show up again soon, no worse for the wear."

**April 19 Location Unknown 11:51 p.m.  
**  
Mulder had been forgiven for his past indiscretion. His meals had begun again. Breakfast, lunch and dinner had all come and gone. Another full day had come and gone. Most of his day had been spent pacing back and forth and thinking of escape plans. Nothing truly useful came to mind. After several hours of getting nowhere, he decided to do something to occupy himself so that he wouldn't go absolutely mad from sheer boredom. Exercise was a good choice. He started off with a hundred pushups, fifty situps and fifty deep lunges for thighs and hips. He considered jogging in place, but the jarring pressure placed on his bare feet on the hard tile floor didn't feel quite beneficial to him.

After working out with his body, it was time to work out with his mind. He leafed through his mental library and came up with Shakespeare. He could envision each line of each play and sonnet as he flipped through a complete volume of work in his mind. He had tried out for plays before only twice in his life. Once in grade school to try to impress his father, then once as a freshman in highschool to try to impress a girl. He had impressed no one. He had been born with certain abilities: a photographic memory, a nose for fleshing out and tracking down killers, and the ability to eat whatever he wanted and not gain unwanted pounds.

Although acting was not one of his strong points, it seemed a good way to entertain himself and drive his audience up the wall at the same time. He chose Hamlet. He would play every character, recite every line. With no drama teacher telling him he's not quite right for the part or he might be happier pursuing a different elective, he was free to overact, over-enunciate and have as much fun as a man trapped in a cell doing Shakespeare could possible have.

He was dying. It didn't matter. His father's murder had been avenged. His mother was dead. There was no reason left to live. Lying on the floor with his hand covering his wound, Mulder as Hamlet gave his final soliloquy. Mel Gibson may have done it somewhat better. Actually, Brad McWhorter in tenth grade had done it better. Mulder lay on the floor dead for a few moments, then sat up and looked at the camera.

"Hey, you can wake up and take the cotton out of your ears now. I warned you it wouldn't be a pretty sight. Just keep in mind tomorrow, Macbeth. I want to thank you all for coming. Good- night and drive safely."

Mulder remained on the floor, his gaze turned towards the overhead light. The only thing that had remained constant was that damned florescent light. They never turned it off. It was diffused lighting, and therefore totally useless in the art of shadow making. It was such a shame too because he knew how to make some great hand shadows.

He hated that light. Perhaps they knew how much he craved darkness, so they kept him bathed in light as a kind of torture to go along with the complete isolation. They wanted to drive him crazy, he was sure of that. They would keep him physically healthy with food and water but drive him slowly insane with silence, solitude and that damned light. He thought briefly of smashing the light fixture, but he knew he'd be punished for it. There had to be some way of escaping the light without getting into trouble.

Mulder turned his head towards the bed. Underneath the bed was a pleasant darkness. He slid beneath the narrow bed into its welcoming shadow. There may come a price to pay for this stolen bit of privacy, but he didn't care. This was what he needed now. This was where he wanted to be. He'd pay the consequences later. He curled himself into a fetal position, resting his head on one arm, and closed his eyes. He didn't mean to go to sleep, but then, what else was there to do.

**April 20 FBI Headquarters 10:20 a.m.**

As the door to AD Skinner's office opened, a billow of smoke poured through first, announcing his visitor. Cancerman sauntered into the room and took a seat near the window. Skinner watched the man with seething contempt, wondering what game he would be asked to play now.

"I understand one of your agents is missing," Cancerman spoke with fake concern.

"Let's just cut the crap," Skinner growled. "What have you done with him?"

"I had nothing to do with Agent Mulder's disappearance. Of course, you don't believe that." He took a long drag on his Morley, then added, "You do realize that Agent Mulder has no lack of enemies."

"I realize that he's been a thorn in your ass for quite some time and his permanent absence would make your life undeniably easier."

"You wound me, Walter," the smoking man stated with a noticeable lack of sincerity. "I've actually grown quite fond of the boy. He has a way of keeping me on my toes. Perhaps he was abducted by little gray men," he added with a wicked chuckle. "It would be the most fitting way for him to go, wouldn't it?"

Skinner leapt to his feet, having a hard time keeping his temper under control. "If he shows up dead and I find out you're responsible..."

"You'll what?" Cancerman barked, with unshaken coolness.

'Wring your neck with my bare hands, you son of a bitch,' is what Skinner was thinking. But he was wise enough to hold his tongue. A verbal threat could easily be used against him in a very legal manner. He forced himself to rein in his anger and sit back down.

His unwanted visitor stood casually to leave, carrying a trail of smoke with him to the door. He hesitated a moment before opening the door, looking back at Skinner with a hint of regret to his otherwise heartless expression. "I'll have my sources look into the matter." He crushed the butt of his cigarette into the ashtray on a nearby table, blew a ring of smoke from thin lips, then left.

**April 20 Location Unknown 12:18 p.m.**

"Mulder, where are you?" It was Scully's voice coming through the receiver that Mulder held pressed to his ear.

"Scully?"

"Yes, it's me Mulder. Where the hell are you? We've been searching for you everywhere."

Mulder looked cautiously over his shoulder at the surveillance camera. He didn't quite remember how he'd gotten hold of his cellular, but he was grateful for the opportunity to call for help. He kept his back to the camera and his voice low as he responded to his partner.

"I... I don't know where I am, Scully. They're holding me prisoner in a cell somewhere. There's no window. I can't see where I am. You have to find me, Scully." Mulder's voice broke with rising panic.

"It'll be okay, Mulder," Scully cooed. "We've traced the call. I know where you are now. I'm on my way."

"Scully, don't hang up!"

"Mulder, it's all right. Don't be afraid."

"I just need to hear your voice. Nobody talks to me here. I haven't seen another living being since I've been here."

"I understand, Mulder, but listen, the phone signal's getting weak. You'll just have to hold on till I can get there. Can you do that for me, partner?"

"Yeah, I can hold on." She said something else but her voice was garbled by static in the line. "Scully?" Mulder called out nervously. "Scully!"

He banged his forehead on the bedsprings above as he bolted from his sleep. Dammit, it was just a dream! He sank back to the floor, massaging his temple with one hand. It had seemed so realistic, her voice in his ear. He wanted to believe that part of it at least was real. He wanted to believe that she was on her way to rescue him. But he soon came to the conclusion that these could be the same people who had abducted Scully, who held her captive for three months and did God knows what to her mind and body. If they were indeed the same individuals behind her disappearance, then the odds of Scully locating him were less than nil.

The smell of cooked beef caught his attention and he turned his head to see that the food tray was already in position. He had apparently slept through breakfast, yet he wasn't the least bit hungry. He had never been much for three squares a day anyway. He had only been eating out of sheer boredom. He crawled from under the bed and went to the toilet to make a deposit, then lingered at the sink after washing his face and hands.

His mind returned to a section of his childhood that knew how to make up games and keep himself company when he no longer had a little sister to play with. He went to get his lunch from the tray and took the meal on styrofoam back to the sink. He decided to take his food on a boating trip. He knelt down in front of the sink and tore off a small strip of his toga to use to plug up the drain hole, then filled the sink with water. The styrofoam plate became a ship, the crinkle fries its crew. The two pieces of sesame bun were the life boats, and the meat of the burger was fashioned into a monstrous sea serpent.

Mulder got into full character doing the voices for the tiny French fry crew. Their captain wouldn't listen to the first mate who warned him of the sea serpent's existence and of its dangerous size. The captain only laughed. There was no such thing as sea serpents, and even if there were, he was convinced that nothing could harm his magnificent vessel. Absolutely nothing. Of course, his words would come back to haunt him as the ship was indeed attacked by the most hideous of creatures ever known to mankind. A package of ketchup provided the blood of the lost crew members that succumbed to the beefy, gaping jaws of the sea serpent. The serpent had torn the mighty ship to shreds and devoured its crew. In the end, only one lone potato lay on a sesame seed raft, drifting back towards the shore. The monster had spared this one life to tell the tale.

It was all a big, soggy disgusting mess, but it had undoubtedly killed some time and brought Mulder out of his growing depression for a while. He cleaned out the sink and flushed the wet and disintegrating food down the toilet. He sat down on the floor in the corner with his head resting against the bowl of the sink and wondered if they would continue to supply him with edible toys after such undignified behavior. In every prison movie he'd ever seen, the prisoner in solitary confinement at least had a pet rodent or insect to call his own. It wasn't fair.

"It's not fair," he heard himself blathering. "Everybody else gets a mouse or a cockroach to play with. It's not that I have a particular fondness for vermin," he addressed himself to the camera. "I'm only saying that other prisoners usually find some kind of life-form in their cells. Bugs are *always* crawling around. You can't keep 'em out. For instance, an ant colony from a mound outside my building, somehow marched their way into my apartment and into my clothes hamper to find two Lifesavers in the buttoned up pocket of my jogging shorts. I've seen spiders build their webs in the corner of my closet and actually *catch* something in them. But you people have no insects here. What kind of prison doesn't have bugs or at least a little fuzzy mouse?"

His voice held a seriousness to it that even he didn't understand. The last thing he wanted was to befriend a disease carrying rodent or cockroach. Why was he even making mention of it? It would be just his luck if the powers that be decided to fulfill his desire for companionship with large, six-legged creatures and other assorted vermin. He thought it best to specify.

"Well, maybe just a hamster, okay? Or either a goldfish. I really don't care for the other stuff... Actually, on second thought, I really don't need anything like that. What I wouldn't mind having though is a deck of cards or a pad and pencil. Even a coloring book and crayons would be nice." He looked into the camera lens, his body absently rocking back and forth as he held his knees pressed to his chest with encircling arms.

"Hey, come on guys. Give a little, will you? What have I ever done to you? Tell me, face to face. Maybe we can work something out here. What, you wanna see me beg? Hey, I'm like the original Temptations. I ain't too proud to beg. Please? Pretty please with cherries on top? Just tell me you want from me! Tell me what the *hell*..." he screamed in anger as an arm flung itself back hard against the wall. The pain of tender flesh against concrete was enough to suppress his rage. He couldn't allow himself to become injured. He had to remain healthy and in control if he ever wanted to escape whenever the opportunity presented itself.

He took in a couple of deep breaths to help regain composure. "Forgive my outburst. I'm sorry," Mulder apologized to his unseen host. He got to his feet, his back against the wall with arms folded across his chest. "Here you've given me deluxe accommodations, great cuisine and the ultimate in 'Do not disturb,' all free of charge. Actually, it's the perfect mini-vacation. I suppose I have been overworking myself a bit. I guess I could do with a little peace and quiet after all.

He was silent for several moments until a thought sprang to life in his mind. "Oh, I remember now... I promised I'd do more Shakespeare for you. Macbeth I believe was to be today's offering. Just give me a minute to recall it."

Mulder began a slow pace about the room as the pages of a book he'd scanned through one day in high school displayed themselves in his mind. He began lifelessly reciting the words from those pages as they rolled by his mind's eye. His heart wasn't into it, but it was a way to help lessen the effects of his imprisonment. A way of holding on to those fine threads of sanity that were threatening to break with each slowly passing minute.


	4. Chapter 4

**April 22 Mulder's Apartment 11:15 a.m.  
**  
When Scully was released from the hospital, Frohike had volunteered to see her home and offer any assistance she required. Her first desire was to go to Mulder's apartment to check for clues. Frohike did his best to dissuade her, but she was insistent. Even with her left arm in a sling, if he didn't drive her, she'd simply drive herself. He could tell by the determined set of her jaw, that she would be true to her word. Aspiring to entrench himself within her good graces, Frohike reluctantly caved to her demands.

The 'Crime Scene' tape that stretched across the front of Mulder's door caused Scully to falter. Frohike was there with a hand at her elbow to help steady her. She inhaled deeply; a simple task that apparently filled her with enough courage to proceed. She tore away the yellow warning tape, then inserted the spare key which Mulder had given her for emergencies. She pushed the door open cautiously. She had to bite her lip to keep from calling out Mulder's name. She knew he wasn't there, though she still prayed for a miracle.

Her escort waited near the entrance as Scully made her way into the living room. It looked fairly normal, although she was used to seeing the coffee table buried by files, research books, maps, and sunflower seed hulls. The room was a tad cleaner than it should be simply because so much had been taken away as evidence to be studied.

Scully glanced across the room and spotted the fish tank. She walked over to the aquarium and peered through the clear acrylic. Three swordtails were still alive. The skeletal remains of a fourth swordtail and two black mollies were evidence of the survival of the fittest. Scully picked up the fish food container and sprinkled the contents generously into the tank.

"He just got these a couple of weeks ago," Scully spoke with a hint of sadness. "He thinks of them as disposable pets. When I was a kid, we were able to keep our fish alive for a couple of years, at least. It definitely helps if someone is around to feed them."

Her attention turned from the surviving fish to Mulder's computer. Hoping to discover a message waiting for her, she sat down in front of it and turned it on. There were nine pieces of e-mail waiting for the owner but none for her. She deliberated reading any of it. She respected his privacy, but if there was a clue as to his whereabouts hidden within the electronic messages, it was her duty to investigate. She recognized all but one of the return addresses. Three pieces of mail were from The Lone Gunmen, three were departmental, and two belonged to a couple of adult internet services. No doubt Mulder's interest in adult entertainment had gone interactive.

Scully chose to read only the message with the unfamiliar author. It turned out to be someone she knew after all. She felt a pang of jealously at the name Bambi. It brought back the unpleasant memory of cockroaches and being covered with dung, but more importantly, her partner being smitten with another woman. Scully knew she had no right to be jealous. She had no romantic ties to Mulder, but she couldn't help but feel possessive of him. He was *her* partner, *her* friend, *her* Mulder.

Scully knew she shouldn't read the message but couldn't help herself. It was a brief note from Dr. Bambi to let Mulder know that she could find no merit in his theory concerning alien cockroaches from outer space invading the earth. She also suggested that he get professional help with his fixations. Scully smiled, but at the same instant tears trailed down her cheeks. A sympathetic hand rested gingerly on her uninjured shoulder. She was embarrassed to have demonstrated such weakness in front of Frohike. She was quick to wipe the dampness from her face.

"You know, he was really upset when you were first taken," Frohike spoke with such genuine sincerity. "We were all pretty worried about him. He was like a walking ghost. And when you returned in a coma, he was the only one who refused to give up on you. He loves you. You're like the little sister he's never been able to find. And if there exists any way at all for him to come back to you, he'll find it. He won't give up."

Scully appreciated the sentimental pep talk. She smiled up at the man who had proven once again to be a true friend to both her and Mulder. She turned off the computer and stood with a friend's help. Frohike would escort the lovely Dana Scully home, restricting himself to being nothing but a perfect gentleman in her presence. He would stay and keep her company if she preferred or park outside her apartment building and watch over her from a distance. It was exactly what his friend Mulder would want him to do.

**April 25 Location Unknown 9:34 a.m.  
**  
Mulder stood back and regarded his creation with a discerning eye. Over the past couple of days he had become a culinary artist of sorts. It had begun with a bowl of Spaghettio's he'd been given for lunch. There were no meatballs. It angered him that they had expected him to eat canned pasta with no meatballs. In a childish fit, he threw the styrofoam bowl of little O's against the wall where most of it still clung, now dried and hardened. After Mulder had calmed down from his temper tantrum, he became fascinated with the design the food had left on the bland, sterile wall. He had inadvertently discovered a new pastime.

He was surprised that he had not been reprimanded for the mess. The food continued to come at its regular intervals of three meals a day. Whatever he found extremely colorful or completely indigestible, ended up on the wall. Tomato slices with their tiny seeds, cooked carrots and green peas among other perishables had been smashed onto the rough surface of the cinder blocks. Grape juice hand imprints added a more personal touch along with ketchup lip prints.

As Mulder stood, admiring his artwork, he realized that he had seen something quite similar to it before. In an art gallery somewhere, a new wave artist had also taken food, dropped and smashed it onto a canvas, then slapped a ridiculous price tag on it. He had unconsciously copied someone else's bad art.

"What do you think, Scully?" he asked the person he imagined was standing at his side.

"It looks like crap, Mulder," he heard her reply.

"Well art is subjective, Scully. But you're right. It *is* crap. If I put a frame around it and a price tag on it, *then* it becomes art."

Her voice had been so clear in his mind, that Mulder had actually expected to find Scully standing beside him. However, when he turned to look there was no one else there. Disheartened, he retreated to a corner where he sat down, drawing his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms about them. He thought idly of how flat his butt must be getting from sitting on the hard, tile surface. He wasn't exercising as much as before. He preferred jogging or swimming for keeping in shape. He wanted to be able to move about freely. He wanted to see the sun and stars again. Wanted the wind in his hair, the grass beneath his feet. He wanted to see faces and hear voices other than the ones in his head. He hated this place.

He stared absently at the dingy piece of percale wrapped about his hips. He had torn the sheet into four sections so that he would have a daily change of clothing. It was one of the ways he used to keep track of time. When he rinsed one out, he used its drying time to gauge the passage of hours along with the intervals between meals. His guess was that eight days had passed. He had tried to make the best of his solitude. He thought of holy men who would devote their time alone to search for inner peace. He had tried to search for inner peace but there were too many hurtful memories still gnawing at his soul. He could never find inner peace as long as his partner's safety was in question, and his sister's abduction remained an unresolved nightmare in his mind. God, how he hated this place.

**April 29 FBI Headquarters 10:15 a.m.  
**  
It was Scully's first day back at work. Though her doctor suggested she take more time off, she forcefully requested and received the go ahead for half days and light duty work only. She busied herself with paperwork, once in awhile finding herself starring at the empty chair her partner should be occupying. He wasn't dead. She wouldn't allow herself to think that. She also hated the thought of him showing up unexpectedly in the hospital three months later near death and in a coma. She feared that what had happened to her was now to be his fate as well. However, she had made it back all the way, and so would he.

Her heart leapt in expectation when the door to the office eased open. She held her breath until she saw her visitor's full form. A.D. Skinner approached, the expression on his face, one of compassion and concern.

"I heard you strong-armed the doctor into letting you come back to work early."

"Light duty only, sir. I'm only working till one."

Skinner showed some hesitance before settling down in Mulder's chair. "I just got back from the Avery hearing. Without Mulder present to testify, the judge had no recourse but to kick the case out of court. So now, that snotty nose rich kid is doing the scot-free rumba down Main Street."

"You still think there's a connection with Avery's hearing and Mulder's disappearance?"

"It's number one on my list. I believe Author Avery bought his kid's walking papers with Agent Mulder's..."

He was going to say Agent Mulder's life, but stopped himself from uttering that last word. He didn't want to believe that Agent Mulder was dead. The man had already proven impossible to kill on several occasions. He either had nine lives or someone up there was truly watching out for him. Skinner looked into a pair of anxious, teal eyes, already swollen with unreleased tears.

"Don't worry, Agent Scully. You know how Agent Mulder has a habit of showing up alive, although not necessarily well."

Scully managed a smile at that. "Yes, he does have that habit, doesn't he?"

"At any rate, we will keep up the search. We'll be watching Avery closely and those he associates with. Maybe we'll get lucky and pick up a clue or two." Skinner rose from the chair and started to leave. "Don't work too hard," he added upon making his exit.

**April 30 Location Unknown 1:30 a.m.  
**  
"Four-thousand, seven hundred, sixty-nine bottles of beer on the wall.  
Four-thousand, seven hundred, sixty-nine bottles of be-e-eer-r-r-r.  
Take one down, pass it around...  
Four-thousand, seven hundred, sixty-eight bottles of beer on the wall."

Mulder sang without enthusiasm or enjoyment and barely any tone. His voice had grown hoarse from the previous five-thousand plus verses of the song he had used to entertain himself and annoy his captives - if they were still listening. Suddenly, making it down to that last bottle of beer no longer held any appeal for him. His musical interest had quickly taken the same route as his daily exercise, his literary recitals and his budding artistic endeavors.

Mulder lay curled on the bed, staring languidly at the door. His last meal still sat on the drop down shelf waiting for him. Hours old, he had no intentions of eating it, nor of playing with it or decorating the walls with it. He was so tired he didn't possess the energy to do anything. Of course, he had no reason to be tired. He had done nothing but lay in bed most of the day anyway, so he had no excuse to claim fatigue. But just pulling himself up off the bed to use the toilet seemed a tremendous effort. He knew what was happening to him. He had become lethargic. Depression and self-pity was weighing him down. He had given up.

"Is this what they did to you, Scully?" he spoke in whispered tones. "Is this what they did to Sam? Locked you up all alone until you're half out of your mind, then they took you to get your implants? How'd you guys manage? Sam's been gone for decades, and you were gone for months. It's just been a few days for me and I'm ready to start climbing the walls. You see, I've just got so much stuff trapped in my head... stuff that I never wanted to take time to really think about. Stuff that I've tried to bury... *people* I've tried to bury. But now... all my protective devices have been taken away... most importantly my work. Without my work to keep me going, I'm lost. No direction, no hope... nothing."

"You have me, Mulder," Scully's disembodied voice replied instantly.

He couldn't see her, but she sounded very close. "But you're not real," he replied lazily. "You're just my imagination working overtime."

"So? You can't let this place get to you, Mulder. You can't let them win. You have to fight the depression and the loneliness."

"But if they want to drive me insane, why not just *go* insane? The sooner I go insane, the sooner they'll let me out, right? What do you think they'd do if I started banging my head against the wall? You think they'd care?"

"Do you?"

"I think it's their job to keep me alive and well. If I started to hurt myself, they'd have to come in and stop me and take care of me."

"And what if they don't, Mulder? What if they just leave you here to bleed to death? Or perhaps they're not watching you as closely as you think they are. What if the night shift has fallen asleep on duty? You could have a hell of a headache for a very long time."

"So why don't you come and rescue me then? You always come to my rescue, Scully. I don't know how you manage it, but every time my ass is in trouble, you come along and bail me out."

"I'm doing my best, Mulder. I'm trying to find you. I'm doing every thing I can. You know that. You just have to hang on a little while longer. You have to be strong. Don't give up."

"But I don't *like* it here, Scully. I can't do my work, I can't help save lives or fight injustice. I can't... I can't be *there* for you. I promised I would, but I can't. I'm sorry, Scully. I can't be there for you."

The frustration came out in a stream of tears. Mulder buried his face in the mattress and covered his head with both hands. Scully's voice was no longer offering words of encouragement. She had become silent, replaced with his own self-reproaching demons.

"I just wanna go home," he whimpered. "I can't do anything here. I don't like it here. Pleasepleasepleasepleasepleaseplease. Let me go, let me go, let me go."

There seemed to be no reason to fight the encroaching madness that was threatening to engulf him. It was obvious that those in the outside world that cared about him had no clue as to where he was or how to get him back. It was also apparent that this would be his home indefinitely. He could sense Cancerman blowing smoke rings as he watched his half-naked, defeated nemesis on a monitor in a control room somewhere. He had finally won.

There were footsteps outside the door. Mulder had distinguished early on between two sets of footsteps that came with his meals. Day shift, bringing breakfast and lunch were solid, quick but short strides. He guessed it to be a female or a slight male. The night shift which brought dinner, was a hefty, tall man by the sound of his heavy, long steps. The footsteps he heard this time belonged to neither the day shift nor night shift. The new person paused outside his door for a moment, then slipped something underneath the door into the room.

Mulder glared at the small shinny object without comprehending what it was. The footsteps trotted off as quickly as they had come. Mulder continued to stare at the piece of metal on the floor, almost feeling too lazy to get up and investigate. Finally, he sat up in bed and threw his feet to the floor. How he wished he could simply wrinkle his nose and have the object float up to his hand. It didn't even sink in what a dumb wish that was. He pushed himself off the bed, dropped to his knees and crawled the short distant to the door. He didn't pick it up right away. He stretched out his long legs and put his weight on his forearms. He touched it with one finger to make sure it was real. After establishing that it was, he carefully pinched it between his thumb and forefinger.

"Looks like somebody's trying to tell me something," he spoke stoically of the razor blade in his grasp.

Only moments ago he had ceased to have thoughts. Now he was being bombarded by them, and all were centered around the high-tensile stainless steel he held between two fingers. Someone had just given him a way out. He turned his left palm upwards and considered the large vein in his wrist. He wondered if he sliced into it, would his captives allow him to bleed to death or would they come to his rescue.

Either they actually wanted him to take his own life or they simply wanted to test him, to see how far gone he really was. But it didn't matter what *they* wanted. It was what *he* wanted. Did he want to give up once and for all? Was escape from this place truly hopeless? Did he still give a damn about the world? About the truth? About Scully? He crawled under the bed into the shadow away from the view of the video camera. He'd keep his final decision to himself. 


	5. Chapter 5

**May 1 Scully's Apartment 2:23 a.m.  
**  
The ringing of her phone pulled Scully out of a restless sleep. She was used to only one person calling her at such an ungodly hour. Her heart raced with anticipation as she reached out to answer it.

"Hello?"

"Agent Scully, this is Assistant Director Skinner."

She sat up in bed, fully alert, fearful of the news he might have to offer. "Yes, sir?" she replied in a calm voice, hoping to mask her nervousness.

"I've just received a call. He's been found. Someone dumped him off on the curb in front of FBI headquarters."

"Is he... all right?"

"He was found unconscious. That's all I know at this time. He's been taken to Georgetown Memorial."

Scully finally let out the breath she had been holding in since she'd answered the phone. "I'm on my way," she spat out the words before the tears of joy were able to choke off her reply.

"I'll meet you there." 

**Georgetown Hospital 2:55 a.m.  
**  
Walter Skinner was surprised to have made it to the hospital before the better half of the most trouble-bound duo in his camp did. It gave him an opportunity to talk to the doctor in charge and find out more about Mulder's condition. The agent had arrived, heavily sedated and practically naked, but with no hint of trauma and very strong vital signs. There was nothing obviously wrong with him that a shower, shave and a comb couldn't fix. Skinner stood looking down at the young man who managed to look boyish in his sleep, even with two weeks worth of facial hair hiding his cheeks.

Scully entered the room and stood next to her superior. Her eyes were on her partner when she asked, "How is he?"

"Heavily sedated. But not by anyone at the hospital. This is how they found him. Apparently, everything else checks out ok."

"So someone kidnaps him, holds him prisoner for two weeks and then let's him go, just like that?"

"I'd say there's definitely more to the story than that. Let's just hope he's able to fill us in on the missing pieces when he wakes up."

Scully finally looked up at her boss. "Nothing was done to him physically. Do you think...?"

"I think a friendly face should be the first thing he sees when he wakes up. I imagine a shock of red hair wouldn't hurt either."

Scully smiled lightly and nodded. "I'm up for the night anyway."

Skinner spoke as he headed towards the door. "I'll have a man posted outside to keep an eye on things. Let me know how it goes."

"Yes, sir." 

**Georgetown Hospital 7:45 a.m.**

The early morning sun filling the room with a warm light was what woke Mulder from his sleep. He stared at the half opened blinds and yellow rays that leaked through to highlight the adjacent wall and floor. It seemed so real, he thought. The white, crisp, clean smelling sheets that surrounded him, the soft hand that rested on his arm... it all seemed so real. But he'd had this dream before, or variations of it. He knew that when he turned to face her, she'd smile that smile and ask him that question again. He'd give her his standard reply, then something would go horribly wrong. Some terrifying force would yank her away from him, possibly hurt her, and he'd be totally inept at rescuing her. Then he'd find himself back in his prison cell.

He'd wake up soon. There was no reason to put himself through the torture, but he couldn't deny himself the opportunity to gaze into that lovely face even if it was only a dream. He slowly turned his head and saw the beautiful red-head sitting close by his bedside. Her eyes were closed and her head slightly lowered. Desperately fighting sleep, she suddenly snapped alert, taken aback at seeing her partner awake and watching her. There was that smile, wide and bright. She stood and moved closer to his side.

"Welcome back. How do you feel?"

He smiled lazily, the sedative still in his system. "You always ask me that," he murmured.

"You always give me reason to."

"This dream feels nicer. Can we just keep this one nice?"

"Okay." She gently brushed back his bangs away from the hazel eyes that were a little too glassy. "You know, Mulder, it was my turn to get all the attention. Why did you have to go and hog the spotlight?"

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to."

"It's okay. Mulder, do you know what day it is?"

"It's... it could be Saturday. I had fish for dinner. Friday is fish day, right? So it might be Saturday."

"No, it's... Wednesday. It's been two weeks since you've been gone."

"Really? I tried to keep track. I had peas one day, but I didn't eat 'em. I used 'em to count the days. Sometimes I would sleep through meals, so I guess I lost track."

"Can you tell me what happened? Where were you?"

"In my room."

Scully dented her brows in confusion. "Your room?"

"It was smaller than this. It didn't have a window." He gave a minor nod towards the opening that allowed the realistic light to flow through. "Your room has a window. I like it better than mine."

"Mulder, you do realize you're in a hospital room, don't you?"

He gave a simple nod. "It has a TV. My room didn't have one."

Seeing that he was stuck on the one subject, Scully decided to pursue it. "Tell me about your room, Mulder. What was it like?"

"It was always daytime. It never got dark, except for when I got under the bed. My bed was bolted to the floor so I couldn't move it. I guess that's a good thing because I would've moved it if I could. I would've moved it closer to the door so I could eat right off the little shelf that dropped down on the door when the food came... And... and the tiny red light over the door was always watching me. I made it go away once, but that wasn't a good thing to do because then it got real hot and I couldn't wash or flush and the food wouldn't come until I made it appear again."

Scully wasn't quite able to decipher the full meaning behind all that, but she decided not to dwell on it. She moved on to something else. "Was there anyone else in the room with you?" she asked.

Mulder shifted his position on the bed, his body angled more towards his partner. His voice became stronger and the momentum increased as he continued. "No. No, you see that's the funny thing about it, Scully. There were no bugs or mice. In all the best prison movies you have your standard mouse pal or cockroach or spider friend to keep you company. I mean, even the birdman of Alcatraz had a pet. Hell, he had a whole menagerie! Or... or they give you a ball and glove like Steve McQueen in "The Great Escape." The damn Nazis gave him a ball *and* glove to play with. I know that wouldn't have happened in a real P.O.W. camp but all the best prison movies gave the prisoners something to do or someone to talk to. You know, like you'd hear someone singing a spiritual or playing the harmonica in the next cell. But I didn't have any of those things, Scully. It wasn't fair. Nobody ever talked to me, and nobody ever came to see me. Not even the ants, because I didn't have any Lifesavers in my pocket. I didn't even have pockets."

Scully's heart sank as he rambled on about the place he had called home for the past two weeks. He wasn't completely lucid in his speech, but it was clear enough to her that her friend and partner had been isolated almost to the breaking point. When he fell silent after his monologue, Scully could see the weariness in his features. He fell back into the plushness of his pillows and closed his eyes.

"Are you okay, Mulder?" she asked, a touch of anxiety to her voice.

He couldn't help but grin at the sound of those words, but he lacked the energy to reply verbally. He drifted peacefully off to sleep.

Several hours later, Scully had gone to stretch her legs and get some coffee. When she retuned to Mulder's room, she was surprised to find him awake and out of bed. He stood in front of the window, leaning over slightly with his hands resting on the window sill. He was apparently so enthralled with the bird's-eye view of early morning D.C., that he didn't realize that his rather short hospital gown was open and his backside was exposed. Scully wasn't totally opposed to this particular view of her partner, and she got in a good dose before alerting him to her presence. She cleared her throat loudly, but wasn't successful in gaining his attention. She thought about going out and coming in again, but decided that they were both adult enough to handle the embarrassment.

"It's a bit early for a full moon, don't you think?" she teased.

He was slow in reacting to her words, but finally drew the conclusion that he wasn't imagining the sound of her voice. He turned around as she approached him with a smile and a shy little, "Hi."

He couldn't help but think that she was the most beautiful vision he'd ever seen. Red hair flaming with the kiss of sunlight from the window, her tired eyes still managed to beam, and that smile... God, how he had missed her. He wanted to take her into his arms and practically pull her inside of him. But he was afraid if he tried to touch her, she'd turn out to be just another one of his dreams and simply fade away. To mask his fear, he adjusted the thin, cotton material to enclose his backside, then leaned his tight buns against the window sill. His eyes drifted down to the cup of coffee she was carrying.

"Is that for me?" he asked despite the lipstick stain he noticed on the rim of the cup.

"Maybe you should wait until the doctor checks you out first."

"There's nothing wrong with me. I feel fine."

He used both hands to ease the cup from her grasp, allowing more contact with her delicate, soft hand than was actually necessary. He was still trying to convince himself that she was more than just his vivid imagination working overtime.

"How's the shoulder?" he asked before taking a sip from the cup.

Scully made a minor gesture to her wound and shook her head casually. "It's fine. A little sore now and then, but healing well."

"Sorry I wasn't around for you."

"You just wanted to get out of becoming my personal slave for at least a week."

"Actually, I was looking forward to that," he said rather suggestively. "You know, giving you sponge baths and tucking you into bed."

Scully tried to suppress a grin as a flush of color burned into her cheeks. Mulder sat the coffee cup down on the window ledge to his left. "How did you find me?" he asked.

"I didn't. Apparently, you were returned. Someone deposited you outside FBI headquarters about one-thirty in the morning. You had been drugged, but otherwise unharmed. Can you fill me in on the details?"

"Not really. I never saw a face, never heard a voice. How long has it been? My last count was twelve days."

"Two weeks ago yesterday. We had a massive search going on. I was afraid that..." She sighed deeply, unable to complete the thought. It wasn't necessary.

"I know," said Mulder as he reached for her hand and gently pulled her into a much needed embrace. As her arms tightened instinctively about him, he finally accepted the fact that she was real and his freedom was real. He fought back the desire to cry. Her warmth felt so good against his body, he was reluctant to let go. Scully felt the same way, however, after a moment, they were each able to disengage and resume a more casual air.

"What are the chances of getting me some scrubs to wear? I can't have you ogling my butt anymore."

"I've seen your scrawny butt on previous occasions, Mulder and I can't say I was all that impressed."

"Well, so much for *your* Christmas present," he spoke dryly.

Scully rolled her eyes at him, then turned and headed for the closet door. She opened it and pulled out a gym bag. Somehow she instinctively knew that he would be needing clothes whenever he happened to reappear. When she was at his apartment with Frohike, she grabbed a carryall and filled it with a set of sweats, underwear, socks and sneakers. She kept the bag in the trunk of her car until it was needed.

Mulder grimaced when he saw her produce the bag. "Oh no. Tell me you didn't go through my underwear drawer, Scully."

"Skinner ordered a thorough search of your place," said Scully as she placed the gym bag on the bed. "Mulder, *everyone* went through your underwear drawer. But don't worry. Your smut collection is still intact. Now go ahead and get dressed. I'll go find the doctor so he can sign you out."

Mulder insisted on driving. He could tell just by looking at her how tired Scully was, though she wouldn't readily admit to it. Since her partner had been released from the hospital with a clean bill of health, Scully had no choice but to surrender the keys to him. Although he seemed perfectly normal behind the wheel, Scully couldn't help but wonder about his mental condition. She uneasily recalled his prattling when he first woke up. She gathered that he had been totally isolated for the full two weeks he had been missing. While still under the effects of the drugs, his lonely imprisonment had been the utmost thing on his mind. Fully alert now, he had made no further mention of his ordeal.

Mulder drove slower than usual, taking in all the sights and sounds that had excluded him for a fortnight. He had thought about going straight in to work, but felt that Scully needed to get some rest. Besides, he needed to go home, change into a suit and shave the fur off his face. He also needed time to acclimate himself to his freedom. He was still silently marveling over the sights, sounds and smells of the city, and the feel of the sun's warmth on his paler than normal skin. He found himself smiling and waving at the little girl in the car next to him. He thought of how his world had been turned upside down, and now everything appeared to be completely back to normal. He managed to turn his attention back to driving and to his partner, who was close to dozing.

"So, Scully… fill me in. What have I been missing these past couple of weeks?"

Startled to alertness by the sound of his voice, Scully replied without missing a beat. "Well, besides my convalescing, the only other important event you missed was the Danny Avery hearing."

"Dammit! I did, didn't I? How'd it go?"

"With the only eye witness unavailable to testify, Mr. Avery walked. The judge held off as long as he could. They let him go just yesterday, as a matter of fact."

"Danny Avery goes free, and that evening, I'm given back my freedom. You believe in coincidences, Scully?"

"Yes, I do. But not in this instance. It's very likely that the elder Mr. Avery arranged to have you out of the way so you wouldn't be available to testify against his son. You're very lucky, Mulder. He could have just as easily had you killed."

"No. Dead bodies tend to leave behind evidence. Besides, he knew he'd be under suspicion and an investigation could endanger his plans."

"Of course, there are many others who would like nothing better than for you to disappear... permanently, that is."

"I'll talk to the D.A. when I get to the office. Maybe I can get him to reopen -"

"It's too late, Mulder. Avery's left the country already. We can't touch him."

It was discouraging news, but for once, Mulder had no intentions of blaming himself for something so far out of his control. He was merely thankful that his ordeal was finally over. By the time he had pulled to a stop in front of Scully's place, she had nodded off to sleep. He silently watched her for a few moments, her head resting against the window, her hair covering most of her features. Her angelic beauty shown through even with the small amount of her face that was visible. Mulder reached out to brush the hair away from her cheek. She jumped awake at his touch.

"What?"

"You're home," said Mulder softly, pulling his hand away slowly.

Scully sat up, glanced out the window as if to check the validity of his statement. Her eyes drifted back to her partner who was still staring at her with a near, dreamlike quality. "You okay, Mulder?"

He snickered lightly at those words and replied with his standard line, "I'm fine, Scully."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

He wrestled with the idea for a moment, then shook his head. "You're dead tired. Why don't you go on in and get some rest. I'll call you later."

Scully knew there was no point in arguing. She could barely keep her eyes open anyway. She gave his hand a reassuring pat, then got out of the car. Mulder waited for ten minutes after she'd gone in before driving away. 

**May 1 Scully's Apartment 5:47 p.m.**

As Scully awoke from her much needed nap, she stretched lazily in bed, then threw back the covers and swung her tiny feet to the floor. Her tummy rumbled, reminding her that she had skipped both breakfast and lunch. She hadn't done any grocery shopping lately, which was just as well because she certainly didn't feel like cooking. She'd order in some pizza or Chinese food, then give Mulder a call to see what he was up to. But first, she needed coffee.

She ignored her slippers and robe as she headed out into the hallway. She was surprised that Mulder hadn't already awaken her with a phone call. There was still a lot to talk about. There were things she knew he wasn't telling her about his abduction, probably never would.

When Scully stepped into her living room, she was confused at seeing the television set displaying cartoons. She didn't remember turning the TV on. She was further perplexed by the presence of a gray suit jacket and tie laid across the back of her favorite chair. The fact that she recognized the "Twilight Zone" tie immediately helped to quell her apprehension of an unwanted intruder. On her coffee table was an opened briefcase with Mulder's holstered gun and reading glasses lying atop several file folders. His shoes were on the floor under the table, paired neatly with dark gray socks. Scully picked up a bag of sunflower seeds from the end table and noted a pile of empty hulls next to the lamp. She scowled at the mess and allowed the bag to plop back down where she had found it.

"Why don't you just make yourself at home, Mulder," she chided in a voice loud enough for him to hear in the next room.

She had expected him to pop his head around from the kitchen, but as she waited a moment, he didn't show. She padded into the kitchen and looked around. Her unannounced house guest wasn't there. She knew he couldn't have gone too far, so she tried the bathroom next, finding the door closed and a light showing from beneath it.

"Mulder, I hope you're not stinking up my bathroom," Scully teased. When she didn't get a response, she tapped lightly on the door. "Mulder, are you all right in there?" Starting to feel some concern after still not hearing a reply, she called out once again. "Mulder, if you don't answer me, I'm coming in."

She waited a full five seconds for a reply but none came. Now she was starting to get truly worried. She turned the doorknob, feeling somewhat relieved to find the door unlocked. As she attempted to push the door open, she met with an obstruction on the other side. She managed to crack the door open a few inches and discovered Mulder lying on the floor of the bathroom, either unconscious or something much worse.


	6. Chapter 6

"Mulder!" Scully yelled his name but got no response. She used all her might to push open the door, nudging his body to the side enough to allow her to squeeze through the opening. Dropping to her knees in front of him, she had expected to find her partner unconscious. To her surprise, his eyes were wide open, albeit in a catatonic-like state while curled up in a fetal position on the tile floor.

"Mulder?" Scully called his name softly at first but after receiving no reply, she spoke in a more insistent tone and was relieved to see his eyes blink at the sound of her voice. "Mulder, are you all right?"

Mulder blinked a few more times as if to recalibrate his brain and calculate his present situation. He raised up into a sitting position with his back resting against the doors of the vanity. "I'm fine," he professed, though non too convincingly. "I guess I must have fallen asleep."

Scully knew he had not been sleeping but she decided to play along just the same. "You let yourself into my home just so you could take a nap on my bathroom floor?"

"No, I rang the doorbell and knocked but I didn't get an answer. I got a little worried and let myself in. You were sleeping so soundly, I didn't want to disturb you. After a while, I came in here to… you know, and I got distracted by the floor."

"Distracted by the floor?"

"Yeah, the design," Mulder began to point out his discovery. "See how its four little black squares in the middle of the big white square? It reminded me a lot like where I was. Only, it was *five* small black squares, in the middle. Well, actually, only one black square in the middle, surrounded by the same size alternating black and white squares, and then the outside area was four large white tiles, which altogether made up one solid square foot. I counted them all. There were twelve-hundred, small black squares and seven-hundred and sixty-eight little white squares. Well, just a little less than that, really. I keep wanting to make up for where the toilet covers it. But anyway, six-thousand, nine-hundred and twelve square inches total... give or take. Yours, I didn't finish counting but it's considerably more than six-thousand. This is a pretty good size bathroom you've got, Scully. Plus your grout work is a little thicker."

Mulder had barely glanced at his partner since she first began interrogating him. His full attention had been focused directly on the floor. Finally he looked up from the tiles to make eye contact and found Scully staring at him as though his skull had suddenly grown twice its size and his skin had turned Reticulan gray.

"Mulder, do you not realize how odd it is that we are sitting on my bathroom floor discussing the number of tiles I may or may not have?"

Mulder gave it some thought and saw her point, though he refused to admit it. Instead, he leaned in closer to her and said, "Scully, do you not realize that at this angle, I could get as interesting a view of your front as you got of my rear this morning?"

Scully glanced down and saw how being on her hands and knees allowed her flimsy camisole to droop open and fully expose her breasts. She threw a protective arm across her chest and looked back to Mulder who had foregone the opportunity to sneak a peek and got to his feet as though nothing was wrong.

"Why don't you go ahead and slip into something a little less comfortable and I'll go get us some coffee brewing."

He walked out of the bathroom, leaving his partner mentally scratching her head over his behavior. Scully paused for a moment, staring down at the floor and wondering just how bored she would have to be to find counting the little black and white squares entertaining. Although he suffered no physical harm, being isolated for two weeks had obviously left him with some serious negative effects.

By the time Scully had made herself presentable in an oversized T-shirt and jeans, Mulder was back at work. He was sitting on the sofa, glasses on, poring over the contents of a file while sipping from a cup of fresh brewed coffee. He looked perfectly normal except for the bare feet parked under the coffee table.

"Finally," he stated of her presence. "You know we've got a lot of work to catch up on, Scully. The two of us out of commission like that..."

Scully went into the kitchen and poured herself a cup of coffee. "Have you seen Skinner?" she called out loud enough to be heard in the other room. Mulder was suddenly in the doorway of the kitchen to respond.

"Yeah. I stopped by the office for a few hours. You know, I believe that he was actually happy to see me. At least I imagine that's what he was implying when he said, 'Looky what the cat dragged in.' Then he gave me a ton of paperwork to fill out. Hey, you wanna go out someplace and eat?"

"Looking like this?" said Scully as she added cream and sugar to her coffee.

Mulder grinned slyly. "Hey, I know some places where you would be considered overdressed."

Scully scowled. "Spare me."

Mulder slipped off his glasses and blew off a loose eyelash from them. "Skinner wants me to talk to a shrink." He spoke those words in a matter-of-fact sort of way, but Scully could sense something hidden behind the statement. It was as if Mulder agreed with it. Scully sipped her coffee, not sure how she should respond.

"Just a formality, of course," Mulder continued when his partner offered no comment. "He wants to make sure I'm no more screwed up than I was before all this happened."

"Mulder, you talked to me some the first time you woke. I suppose you don't remember any of it. Some of the things you said didn't make much sense. Some of it did. You talked about being alone, about having no physical contact with anyone the whole time you were there. You seemed upset about not even having rodents or bugs around to keep you company. You were in solitary confinement in a room with no windows, and lights that stayed on continuously that gave no concept of day or night. What does a person with your intelligence do when all forms of mental stimulus is taken away?"

"I think that's what they were trying to find out."

"Who?"

"I don't know. But I felt like I was being studied. I felt as though I was a white rat in someone's science project. There was a video camera on me at all times."

"That must be the red light you said kept watching you."

"Yeah."

"Until once when you made it go away and it got hot and you weren't able to wash or flush."

"I covered up the lens. As punishment, they turned off the air conditioning and water. When I uncovered the lens, everything was restored."

"It must have been maddening for you."

At that, Mulder simply shrugged and headed back towards the living room. He settled down on the sofa, slipped his glasses back on and picked up the folder he had been going through earlier. Scully curled up on the opposite end of the couch, facing Mulder and casually drinking her coffee. She noticed that Mulder was not paying the file in his hands any attention. Instead he was staring at the TV. A soap commercial was playing. Even with the sound turned down, the message came through clearly. The guy in the shower was ecstatic about how clean and fresh his soap made him feel.

"I know how he feels now," said Mulder with a small sigh. He looked to Scully, only a couple of feet away, waiting patiently. He knew she was dying to know all the facts. She knew it wasn't everyday that he waltzed into her home unannounced and promptly fell asleep in her bathroom. But she wasn't rushing him to tell all and for that he was grateful.

"Scully, about what happened in the bathroom... I hope I didn't scare or upset you any. My internal clock's a little off."

"So that makes it complete then," Scully teased. "You look pretty healthy considering," she added a bit more seriously. "I take it you weren't harmed physically?"

"No. Apparently, even through transport, a lot of care was given not to damage the goods. They wanted their lab animal in good condition."

"Are you saying that you think Avery had some mad scientist kidnap you and place you in solitary confinement, hoping for... what? That you'd go bonkers?"

"I've seen caged animals that went insane from lack of companionship, mobility and mental stimulus. Humans are no different. Albeit, I'm not exactly the friendliest guy in the universe and I pride myself for not being on anyone's party list, I do at times find the need to associate with members of my own species. I have so much stored energy, both physical and mental, that if anyone *did* want to drive me insane, total isolation and confinement would conceivably be the way to go. That and a television set that showed nothing but "Gilligan's Island" episodes."

Scully both grimaced and grinned at that particular kind of hellish torture. "But, Mulder, don't you think it's more likely that the reason you were placed in such controlled and isolated conditions was simply so you wouldn't be able to escape? That maybe no one was studying you or trying to drive you crazy? Perhaps they merely wanted to reduce the possibility of you identifying any of them later or the location where you were being held. Logically speaking -"

"Is what Mr. Spock did in the "Star Trek" series," Mulder cut her off abruptly. "And although it was necessary for plot development, it still drove Dr. McCoy up the sick bay wall."

Scully picked up on the coded message there and decided to abandon her logical thinking for the moment. "All right. So, since you didn't have a ball and glove like Steve McQueen in "The Great Escape" or anything with more than two legs to keep you company, what did you do to pass the time besides counting tiles?"

"Shakespeare. I acted out plays, recited sonnets, even told every dirty limerick and joke I knew."

"I'm sure that kept you occupied for awhile."

"Luckily, it did. I spent a lot of time going over some of our cases in my head. Even came up with a couple of good leads on some. Actually, the whole experience wasn't all that bad. It was like taking a forced vacation. I got plenty of rest - something you're always telling me I need more of anyway. I got a chance to just relax and take it easy. No pressures of work, no phones ringing, no e-mail to answer or paperwork to fill out, and no bad guys or alien life-forms to chase after. If I'd only had my TV and video collection, we're talking heaven."

Scully knew better. "You're a workaholic, Mulder," she reminded him. "You hate sitting still with nothing to do. Your mind is such that if you're not juggling a missing person case, an unexplained murder and a UFO sighting at the same time, you'd go buggy from the monotony."

She knew him too well. Mulder stared blindly at the photograph of a man's mutilated body he had been holding. When he spoke again, his voice had lost its playfulness. "There were times when I'd just sort of zone out," he admitted to the space between himself and the photograph. "I'd suddenly realize that hours had gone by because the food tray would be there and I wouldn't remember seeing it arrive, and the food would be cold, even dried out a little. My legs and shoulders would ache from being in one position for so long."

That sounded like what he may have experienced in the bathroom but Scully chose not to call attention to it. "Are you sure you hadn't merely fallen asleep?" she offered the sensible solution.

"I usually had dreams when I slept. Bad ones mostly. About you."

He was too self-conscious at that moment to look at her. He could feel her eyes on him, empathic, wanting to chase away his sadness. Her hand rested gently on his forearm, a subtle reminder of fathomless support and friendship. He somehow mustered up the courage to continue.

"After about a week or so of holding it together, I started to let it get to me. The solitude and silence I could pretty much handle. It was the not knowing that did it. Not knowing why I was there or who was watching me on the other side of that camera. It was the not even knowing if you were all right. I was so afraid that they had taken you from the hospital, and there was nothing I could do about it. I sort of let myself get a little depressed. I guess they noticed it too, because at one point they slipped a razor blade under the door. Now I may have done some things in the past that could be interpreted as suicidal, but I've never harbored the thought of actually committing suicide."

"Did you find yourself weakening, Mulder? Even briefly?"

The glasses came off again and his eyes shifted from the file in his hands to the person who had somehow moved closer to him without his knowledge. "You'll never know how much you helped me, Scully. I just kept hearing your voice telling me to fight it, to hold on a while longer, that everything would be all right. I trusted you, so I listened."

Scully arched a brow. "You actually listened to me? There's a first," she noted with a grunt.

"What do you mean? I listen to you all the time, Scully. I hear everything you say. Hey, sometimes I even respond." Mulder flashed a grin at his partner and patted the hand that still rested on his arm. "Why don't we order in a pizza or something?"

"I thought you wanted to go out."

"No. I don't think I'm quite ready for crowds. Besides," he added as he picked up another file from his briefcase and tossed it into her lap. "We've got a lot of catching up to do."

Scully leafed through the file and blew out a sigh at the sight of a decomposing corpse. "That's what I like about you, Mulder, you really know how to impress a girl."

Mulder picked up his sunflower seed bag and offered her the contents. "Seeds?"

"No thanks. I believe I'll just go order the pizza."

As she rose and started past him, Mulder reached out and gave her hand a firm squeeze. It was his way of saying "Thanks," for being there for him even though he hadn't been there for her, and for not getting mad at him inviting himself over because he feared the loneliness of his lifeless apartment. They exchanged knowing glances, expressing the deepest of emotions without uttering a word. Scully gave a simple nod along with a Mona Lisa smile. Mulder released his hold on her and immediately turned his attention to work, replacing his glasses and studiously perusing the file before him.

"Hey, Scully?" he stopped her before she had cleared the doorway heading into the kitchen for a menu.

"Yes, Mulder?"

"No anchovies, okay?"

"Yes, Mulder. I know.

**Scully's Apartment 12:57 a.m.**

Scully's living room had begun to resemble the office in the FBI basement. The shiny wood of the coffee table was no longer visible. It was now hidden by open folders, scattered photographs of crime scenes and the life story printouts of several suspects. An open pizza box sat between the two agents on the sofa. Having gone all day without eating, both had sated themselves with side salads, iced tea and pepperoni pizza with extra cheese. No one was willing to fight over the last cold, stale slice of pizza still remaining.

She wasn't sleepy yet, but Scully had definitely grown tired of the endless search for clues among the ordered chaos surrounding them. She looked at Mulder who had immersed himself in some information he had downloaded on his laptop.

"I'm surprised, Mulder."

"Mmh?" he responded without tearing his eyes away from the scrolling words on the flickering monitor.

"These are the files we were working on before our forced vacation."

"Your point?"

"I had assumed that you would have gotten the files on Danny and Author Avery from the task force that was looking into your abduction. You do plan on investigating further, don't you?"

"Of course, I plan on investigating. But I won't need the files on the Averys. They weren't responsible."

"And how did you come to that conclusion?"

He took off his glasses and turned his full attention to his partner. "Because believing that they were responsible is the most obvious conclusion," he stated matter-of-factly. "And you know that I never focus on the obvious."

"So what are you focusing on?"

"This." Mulder picked up the slice of cold pizza from the box and held it briefly in front of Scully's nose. "What do you know about pizza, Scully?"

"A rhetorical question, I'm sure."

"What you may not know is that if smashed into the wall just so, it makes a pretty interesting looking Van Gogh-like design." Mulder smiled and fought back the desire to slap the pizza onto the pastel painted wall behind him. "I'll rephrase the question," he said as he let the food plop back into the box. "What do you know about pizza delivery?"

"Thirty minutes or it's free?"

"Twice, I was served pizza... with anchovies," he added with a frown. "But I noticed that it arrived hot and fresh."

"So wherever you were being held was within thirty minutes of a pizza parlor. Mulder, do you have any idea how many pizza parlors there are within the city limits alone?"

"A lot. But I'm only interested in the ones that are within a five-mile range of a mental hospital or clinic. I've already got Teresa in research checking it out. She's also coming up with a list of distributors of automatic sinks and toilets."

"Your cell had an automatic sink and toilet?"

"Installed within the past year or so, I'd say."

"What makes you think it was a hospital or clinic? It could have been one of those posh, minimum security prisons for politicians that get their hands caught in the bureaucratic cookie jar."

Mulder shook his head emphatically. "The place was spotless, Scully. Sanitized. I was kept like you'd keep a lab rat. You'd give it a clean cage to start and plenty of food and water. Then you sit back and monitor its reactions to the stimuli you give it... or don't give it."

Scully gave a minor nod of her head, indicating that she was willing to give his theory some consideration. "But you said you never heard any other voices or sounds. Wouldn't you have heard the other patients on the floor if it had been a mental institution of some kind?"

"I heard footsteps," Mulder spoke in a suddenly somber voice, his eyes focused somewhere on the pile of paperwork on the table. "I tried to imagine what the person looked like by their footsteps. I think day shift could have been a woman. She wears a white lab coat and turtle shell glasses, and keeps her graying hair pulled back into a tight bun. Night shift is a man. He's about my height but heavyset with bushy hair and thick glasses..." He looked to Scully again as he added, "I know what your footsteps sound like too. I listened for them, but you never came."

Scully wondered if he realized just how accusatory his eyes were just then. It hurt to think that he felt she had not done all she could to find and rescue him.

"You look tired, Mulder. Maybe we should call it a night."

Mulder glanced at his watch. "Yeah, I guess you're right. I should be going."

He spoke the words but made no attempt of actually following through. He stared at the still silent television screen which had yet to be tuned from the Cartoon Network. No sound was needed to see that Scooby Doo and Shaggy were being chased by someone in a monster costume. Scully watched Mulder watching the cartoon with solemn eyes. He grinned briefly at the antics of the heroes capturing the fake ghoul and uncovering the human villain beneath the disguise.

"If only it were that simple," said Mulder sadly.

"I'll get you a pillow and some linen. You can sleep here," said Scully as she rose from the couch.

Mulder didn't bother to object. He unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it off, placing it on the back of the chair with his jacket and tie. The T-shirt came off next. He was working on removing his pants when Scully came back in with the linen. She had expected him to pull his trousers back up when she appeared, but her presence didn't seem to faze him. She had to avert her eyes when his boxers came off as well.

"I'm just gonna go use the bathroom," he told her as nonchalantly as he would have if he'd been fully dressed. Scully's mouth fell open in astonishment as she watched him with wide eyes, stroll out of the room, stark naked.


End file.
